


Barefoot

by CorsetJinx



Category: Final Fantasy Tactics
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Loss of Faith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: The immediate crisis following the defeat of Altima has passed. Now, only she remains - alone by her choice.





	Barefoot

The sound of her own footsteps echoed inside her head as she climbed the stairs. Were it not for the idle chatter of the tavern and the clink of glasses she suspected that the scrape of her armor would have been more pronounced. As it is she's tired enough to consider falling asleep on the stairwell - only the knowledge of how sore she would be in the morning convinced her that finding her room was absolutely necessary. 

Heavy wood opens at a touch and her weary eyes are treated to a modest bed, night table, and a window that offers a view to the streets below. Lanterns are being lit as she leans her sword against the wall, numb fingers undoing the clasps and buckles of her armor by feel and memory.

As each heavy golden piece is laid aside a part of her thinks to pray. The Church has ever been a part of her life, from the time she could walk to now - even as disgraced as she is.

Who would she direct her innermost confessions to, though? The belief in her God has been hammered and twisted out of shape - no longer as brilliant and gleaming as the edge of her greatsword.

Leaving her tabard to rest over her discarded armor, she sank carefully to her knees before the bed. Rough, calloused hands twined and she lowered her heavy head. Without the safety of stockings and boots her toes curled fitfully against the soles of her feet to stay warm, even as she gradually curled in on herself.

Where strong, confident murmurs once left her lips now there was silence. An aching that she offered to the air like a wounded limb.

Perhaps, somewhere, a little bit of her faith remained. Or some kind, unnamed power would listen to the weakness of a Templar knight who'd turned away from the Church.

Whatever the case, when she rose it was with the bed as her goal. Pulling back the thick blanket and sliding under its layer, she sighed as the straw accepted her weight. It took an effort of will not to simply let her head fall back against the pillow, but in moments she was asleep with the blanket pulled up to her chin as though she were a child once more.

If she dreamed, it was not of fire and explosions for once.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the inktober writing challenge, based on the prompt "barefoot".


End file.
